


Automatic

by harrylee94



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 13:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11380728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrylee94/pseuds/harrylee94
Summary: This is why you don't antagonise gun wielding murderers.





	Automatic

**Author's Note:**

> Just a random thing for my [story a day challenge](https://harrylee94writes.tumblr.com/).

It had been a long day. A long two days really, but Greg hadn't had a chance to catch even a few hours since this case had begun on Tuesday, and now it was Wednesday night and the night between had been next to non-existent since the body had shown up. Bodies. It wasn't one, it was several, all squashed together. In a way he was almost glad he hadn't had a chance to sleep; it wasn't going to be a peaceful one after all.

His first instinct had been to call Sherlock, and the tall bastard had flounced his way onto the crime scene, crowing about this, that and the other, his ever faithful doctor by his side while Greg glared off the worst of the comments Donovan was sure to make.

And then there had been nothing. Sherlock had fucked off, John sending Greg an apology as the pair had all but run out the door and into one of those magically appearing taxis (seriously, how did the man do that?) and buggered off, not to be heard from again until almost seven the next evening, leaving Greg with everything else.

In other words, business as usual.

However, the situation Greg currently found himself in was not

“Let’s everyone just… calm down,” he said, his hands raised to try and placate the killer, who was currently pointing a gun at him. Well, him and Sherlock, the idiot having been unable to keep him from insulting the armed woman. He had no idea where John was.

“Why don’t you just shut up?” Amanda Tepping, the ‘Frankenstein Killer’ asked snidely, her lips curling even as her eyes flickered between the two of them

Sherlock growled. “It doesn’t make any sense,” he said, ignoring the warning looks the Inspector was sending him. “You went to all that trouble with the bodies, but you still have a gun?”

“Shut up!” she all but screeched, and Greg wondered if that was why unhinged murderers chose isolated buildings as their hiding spots. “You don’t know me!”

“Don’t you dare,” Greg hissed before Sherlock could say a word, but the Consulting Detective just rolled his eyes.

“She’s lonely, and all those men rejected her, no doubt insulting her in the process, and so she took to following them, making detailed accounts of their schedules,” he waved a hand at one of the open books nearby before turning back to the woman, stepping closer, “and then she killed them, all because-”

Greg moved before he could even think about it, before he even really knew why he was doing it, automatically shoving Sherlock to the side as the murderer tensed just a fraction before a resounding _crack_ filled the room.

For a second there was a resounding silence, but then Amanda collapsed, a hole in her heart, wheezing for breath.

“Where were you?” Sherlock demanded, looking past the place where the murderer had been standing to where John was, just inside the other door to the room.

“I was busy!” John exclaimed. “This house is a lot… Greg?”

God, how he’d wished it had only been one gunshot.

He put it down to the shock, or something. He wasn’t really sure how he was still standing really, but now that all eyes in the room (that mattered) had turned their full attention to him, he staggered back a little before his knees wobbled and gave out beneath him.

“Greg!” John exclaimed, but Greg couldn’t help but frown at him. If he was running towards him, who’s arms were holding him?

Looking up a little, he found Sherlock had caught him before he could fall back against the floor. “… Oh.”

“You idiot,” Sherlock muttered as John reached their side and tore open his coat, revealing a blood soaked white shirt beneath. “Why would you do that?”

Greg blinked up at him, wondering if it was the shock that was making him see worry in those dark eyes. “Automatic,” he explained as a fog started to pick his thoughts away, one by one. “I liked this coat…”

“Quick, lie him down Sherlock,” John commanded, his voice cold, vacant of emotion as he rolled his sleeves up and checked the wall.

The Inspector bit back a groan as the world moved, but then cried out in agony as hands pressed down on the wound, making spots dance in his eyes. God he was so tired…

“Hello? Yes, I need an ambulance.”

Ambulance? What was Sherlock…?

“Come on Greg, stay with me.”

“John?” Greg managed, squinting up at the doctor. “Sleepy.” It was getting cold. Did someone leave the freezer open?

“Fuck, no, Greg. Greg!”

* * *

There was beeping. Annoying beeping. And his nose and throat felt itchy. Eurgh, why did he feel so heavy? And it was so bright! He groaned.

Something shuffled and creaked beside him, and suddenly there was a touch at his arm.

“Lestrade? Are you awake?”

Greg moaned again, but turned his head towards the voice, opening his eyes little by little until he could make out the form of one heavily sleep deprived Sherlock Holmes. “… What you doin’ in my room?”

Sherlock chuckled, a surprising thing, and then snorted, and then laughed. When the nurses finally arrived, they found the unlikely sight of the pair smiling together.


End file.
